Mr. Pink

by Tessa Layne

  His eyes bore into me.

  “Cabernet sauvignon, cab franc, merlot, malbec, petit verdot,” I say in a bored tone. Morrie, our head grower, drilled those into me when I was fucking twelve years old. I’ve forgotten plenty that Morrie told me, but when I was twelve, I stupidly thought Dad would be proud of me for wanting to know how to make wine. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And the fact that suddenly out of nowhere he cares now, makes my blood boil. “Anything else?”

  I should have known better than to leave an opening like that for him, because he pounces with the ferocity of a lion. “What’s the brix level when we harvest our grapes?”

  I have no fucking clue, and from the triumphant look he shoots me, he knows it. He doesn’t bother waiting for me to answer.

  “What grapes do we use to make Rosé?”

  “I don’t fucking care,” I snap. “It’s wine, Dad. We grow it, people buy it. You sent me to Stanford, not wine school.”

  “And you’ve squandered your education. On both fronts. Don’t think I don’t see the way you bluff your way through the board meetings, or the way you spend most of your days doing nothing productive.”

  He continues on, but I don’t hear because my body feels like a million degrees. I feel trapped, cornered, and I don’t like where this conversation is headed.

  “And I can only hope you’ve invested some of it wisely, because that’s all you have.”

  “What?” Now he has my attention. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you not listen to a word I just said?” he bellows, coming dangerously close to shouting.

  My mother lays a hand on his shoulder. “Robert, this isn’t good for your heart.”

  “What’s not good for my heart is my three sons sucking our legacy dry. I’ll be damned if the Case Family Winery name ends with me.” He glares at me. “Let me spell it out, son. I’ve cut off your access to your trust fund.”

  “What?” I clench the glass in my hand. “You can’t do that.”

  “I can, and I did. And not just yours, Declan’s and Nicholas’s too.”

  I nearly laugh, because all I can think of is how that’s gonna piss off Ronnie.

  “None of you are getting a penny more until you’ve learned the business inside and out.”

  Easy. I was top of my class at Stanford. I can give him a full report inside of a month. But he’s still talking.

  “And, you’ve learned from Jason how to make an award-winning wine. It’s high time the Case Family regained its reputation for making stellar wines.”

  There’s so much to unpack there, I don’t know where to start. “What do you mean ‘learn from Jason’?” I ask suspiciously as my brain whirls.

  “I mean, you need to get your ass out here next week after Jason returns from his honeymoon, and make me a goddamned winning wine.”

  “Are you fucking out of your mind?”

  “I’m fucking tired of you boys sucking off the family teat and not giving back. I’ve enacted the kill-clause and your funds are frozen until such time as I deem you worthy.”

  I’ve never hated him more than I do right now. Self-righteous asshole, thinking he can still pull the strings and make us dance like marionettes. To make matters worse, Jason appears out of nowhere, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. Jeezus, did I enter some kind of parallel universe? Was the whiskey spiked? But as soon as our eyes lock, he scowls. This is the Jason I know and despise. His eyes drop to my knees, then snap back. “Enjoying a bit of the local color, I see?” He glowers at me.

  My stomach drops, and I know that my pants must be dusty from the barreling room floor. Fuck. “None of your damned business.”

  He takes a step closer. “It is when it happens on my property, at my wedding.”

  I’m not intimidated. Not anymore. Not when I’m as tall as he is. “And your point is?”

  “Enough, boys,” my father orders. “You two can sort this out next week. Austin?” He turns his steely gaze to me. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  Ha. I’ve disappointed him my whole life. “What if I say no?”

  “Your choice. But I wouldn’t advise it.”

  I know what that means. I’ll be locked out of everything. Kicked off the estate, persona non grata at the club, hell I wouldn’t put it past him to freeze me out of the Four Seasons. I take a quick inventory of my private investments. I probably have three mil in cash, and another ten to fifteen tied up. I could live off that for a while. Hell, if I wanted to be a beach bum I could live off that the rest of my life. But do I want to? Would it make my life more or less headache-free? It’s a toss-up. My life is going to suck dirty balls for the foreseeable future. So the larger question is, do I walk like Jason did? Or do I suck it up because in two years, whether Dad likes it or not, I become fully vested and I can walk away with 2.3 billion dollars in my pocket. The math makes my decision damned easy. And knowing Dad, if I lay low and act like I care until post-harvest, this will all blow over.

  “Fine. You win. See you in a week.” I don’t bother to shake on it, or exercise any kind of politeness. I lost this battle, but I’m taking the long view. I’m out to win the war.

  Chapter Eleven

  One week later

  * * *

  “Hello, Gorgeous.” Clearly, by the look on Macey’s face, she’s as surprised as I am when I step into the tasting room for my ‘lesson with the sommelier.’ I fleetingly wonder why Jason didn’t warn her I was coming, but I’m damn sure going to take advantage.

  “What are you doing here?” She glares at me. “You promised.”

  I let the door swing shut behind me, and the sound of the latch catching cuts through the silence. “So I did,” I answer with a shrug. “To be honest, you’re the last person I expected to see here.” I flash her a smile. “But I’m not disappointed.”

  She shakes her head. “This can’t be happening,” she says more to herself than me.

  “Well, it is, Gorgeous, so I suggest we make the best of it.” I can think of half a dozen different ways to begin.

  My comment sets something off inside her. “I have a name,” she snaps.

  “But you are.”

  Her eyes spark with challenge. “I’m a person. With a name. Fucking use it, or get out of here.”

  Whoa. Damn if I don’t love her fire. But she’s right, and if I piss her off, no doubt she’ll go running to Jason and I’ll have to go live on a beach somewhere in Bali. I open my hands. “I’m sorry… Macey.”

  She nods, turning back to the bottles behind the counter.

  I lean over the counter. “But can I call you that when we fuck?” I tease.

  She whips around, shimmering with anger. It’s a beautiful sight, and my pulse quickens when she leans in, face inches from mine. I catch a whiff of that citrusy perfume she wears. I swear I will lie on my deathbed remembering her perfume. “We’re done fucking, Austin.”

  She’s absolutely right. We can’t fuck. Not under my brother’s nose. “We should be,” I answer, unwilling to completely let go of the idea. But the longer I hold her gaze, the more I’m convinced her words are hollow. Her breathing becomes more shallow, and her lips part. Her face softens and I swear she leans closer.

  Neither of us says a word. The silence stretches between us, the air turning heavy with words that should be spoken, but won’t. I feel her wanting me. But I also feel her grim determination to stick to her guns. Awareness hums through my body, my skin tightens, my cells vibrate. I realize with shocking clarity that this enforced Purgatory has turned into hell on earth with Gorgeous working here. I’m not used to this wanting but not having business, and quite frankly, I fucking hate it. I push away from the counter and turn, jamming my hands in my pockets. “Do you know why I’m here?” My voice comes out strangled.

  “No.”

  “My trust fund has been locked up because my father has decided I need to learn to make award-winning wines.” I turn at the sound coming from her throat. She’s chewing on the inside of
her lip, eyes full of amusement. “It’s not funny,” I bark.

  That pushes her into laughter. “Oh, yes it is,” she gasps, covering her mouth with a hand.

  I glare, and try not to think about how beautiful she is when she laughs, when her eyes light up like sparkling jewels.

  “So the poor little rich boy has to work for a living,” she mocks. “You’re right. It’s not funny at all.” Her eyes narrow. “So have you ever had to work hard for anything in your life?”

  “Sure.”

  “What?”

  “My crew coach worked us to the bone.”

  “Your crew coach,” she repeats with something like disbelief.

  I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. We were a championship team, and that meant long hours in the gym. Miles of running, and then rowing.”

  I realize as I continue to watch her that I’ve made a serious error in judgment. My answer just confirmed her low opinion of my work life. I start backpedaling. “And I’ve worked hard on business deals.”

  “Business deals.” She snorts and shakes her head.

  Something pulls tight in my chest. I don’t like this line of questioning. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me with something close to disgust. I want her looking at me the way she does when she’s coming apart in my hands - like I’m a fucking god. “I can’t help that I was born into a wealthy family,” I protest.

  She pounces. “But you can help what you’ve done with that opportunity. Which is nothing.”

  Her words cut. And I can see by the look on her face, they’re meant to. But I refuse to feel guilty about my life choices. I spread my hands. “I’m here, aren’t I?” I stalk back to the counter and brace myself. “And let’s get one thing straight, Gorgeous.” I call her that just because I know it will get a rise, and it does. “Just because I haven’t had to work, doesn’t mean I can’t or I won’t. I’ll bust my ass for something I want.”

  “And what do you want, Austin?”

  You. But that sure as hell isn’t the answer she’s looking for. I push off the counter. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  She makes a disbelieving noise deep in her throat. And for whatever reason - maybe because I’m wound up, maybe because I’m pissed as hell at this bullshit situation - I come right back and pin her with a glare. “Fine. You want me to be honest? I want you, Gorgeous. I want to see your face come undone as you clench around my cock, I want you crying out my name while you’re spread open beneath me. I want to taste your beautiful pussy and feel your fingers yanking my hair while you ride my face.”

  Her mouth drops open as her eyes go round. The air crackles between us. But I know before she says anything, that this time it’s not going to go my way. I fight a wave of disappointment.

  She clears her throat. “I think if you’re here to learn about wine, we should get on with it.”

  I hold her gaze a moment longer, then nod. “Fine.”

  Her hands are shaking when she sets two glasses on the counter, and I watch her in silence as she sets the space for a tasting. She avoids looking at me, so I study the splash of freckles across her cheeks, still high with color. With deliberate movements, she places six bottles in an arc. An air of confidence blankets her, as if she’s done this thousands of times, and again, it makes me curious. What kind of life has she had outside of her friendship with my brother? “How did you end up a somm?”

  She flicks a glance my direction. “My parents own a vineyard in the Hudson River Valley.”

  “That’s how you met Jason?”

  Her face pinches as she nods, and I know she’s thinking about her dead husband. Jealousy stabs through me. I have no right, none at all. But I can’t help it. What kind of a douchebag breaks a woman as beautiful as Macey? She brushes her hands against her jeans and clears her throat again. “Let’s keep the conversation to wine, shall we?”

  I hate that she’s all business again, but I nod. “Where do we start, boss?”

  She glances at me sharply, not missing my sarcasm. “We start with you leading the tasting,” she shoots back, throwing in a saccharine smile, and pushing the first bottle my direction. “I’d hate to insult your intelligence by being redundant.”

  I push the bottle back her direction. “Maybe I’d like to hear you talk.” My mouth curls up. “I’ll stop you if it’s too easy.”

  Her mouth bows, pushing out her pink lower lip, and I’m struck by the color - the same rosy hue as her clit when it’s aroused and begging for my touch. I miss her first words, because all I want to do is suck on her lip. Taste it. Hell, taste her.

  “Are you even listening?” she asks sharply.

  “Sorry. Continue.” I open my hand to the wine bottles.

  She glares at me suspiciously. “As I was saying, I thought we’d start talking about flavor profiles. As a winemaker, the more you understand what goes into a balanced wine, the better your wine will be.”

  I don’t give a shit about flavor profiles, but I’ll play along for the moment. “Great. Hit me.”

  She opens the first bottle and pours a small amount of pink wine into the bottom of the glasses. “This is your family’s cabernet franc rosé from your estate in Napa.”

  I toss it back managing not to wince as the flavor hits the back of my tongue.

  She exhales heavily. “You’re supposed to smell it first. Observe it. Then taste it.” She refills the bottom of my glass. “What do you notice?”

  Nothing that she wants me to notice, and everything she doesn’t. Like the way her hair glows when the sunlight catches it. I make a show of swirling my glass and taking a big sniff. Nothing. I don’t smell a goddamned thing. And I know there’s nothing wrong with my nose, because I sure as hell can smell her perfume. “What’s going on here?” I ask a little too sharply.

  She shoots me a knowing smile. “The wine’s too cold, masking the aromas of bright fruit. But this is how most people drink it.”

  “And your point is?”

  “The winemaker created a wine so bold that it cuts through the cold. The problem only comes when you drink the wine at fifty-five degrees or higher.”

  “Let me guess,” I start with a wry smile. “Over-oaked, flabby and hot?”

  She gives me her Mona Lisa smile as she pours another rosé into the bottom of the next glass. It fizzes, and I recognize the label from my brother’s wine. I take a sip. The bubbles explode on my tongue in a manner that hints at arousal. Foreplay. It’s sensuous and effervescent, and when the taste of strawberries hits my tongue, all I can think of is how I want to pour this over Macey’s pussy, then slowly lick it off.

  My cock likes that visual a lot. Too much. My mouth turns to dust, and I down the rest of the glass in a gulp. Macey clucks her disappointment, but I’m done with this lesson. “So what’s the point? There’s got to be more to it than one is Stellaluna.”

  Her eyebrows rocket and a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “Stellaluna?”

  “Isn’t that what you call it?” I give her a look I’m sure conveys my impatience. “You’re going to tell me it’s all cougar juice, right?”

  She covers her mouth, hiding a smile and shaking her head.

  “What?” I growl. “What’s so funny?” I’m half a second away from getting in the car and driving back to California. Family fortune be damned.

  “It’s Stardust Rosé, and we don’t make cougar juice here.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I still don’t see what the purpose is.”

  “Stellaluna is a children’s story about a bat.”

  Definitely not cougar juice.

  “Sophie has it. You should ask her to read it to you sometime.”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass.” The last thing I want is to hang out with a little kid reading a story about a bat, even if she’s adorable and looks just like her mother.

  Her eyes flash with something I can’t quite identify, and just like that, her face is all business again. “The point is, hot-stuff, it’s the same grape. It’s the winemaker that
makes something special,” she snaps. “And if you bothered to learn anything about your family’s business, you’d already know that. You want to get out of here and go back to your fancy life in California? Figure out how to make something classier than cougar juice.”

  I lean over the counter, done with this bullshit and her air of superiority. “That’s why I’m here, Gorgeous.” My words come out clipped. “And you can be damned sure, I’m going to take good notes and get out of this hell-hole as soon as I fucking can. Tell my brother he can find me at the hunting lodge.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I cool my heels two days before Jason finally shows up, face like a thunderstorm. “Where in the hell have you been?”

  “Right here where I told your sommelier I’d be. Where have you been?” This is vintage Jason, and this time, I’m not falling for it. “I showed up right on time, just like the dutiful son I am, and was subjected to a humiliating lesson in wine quality-”

  “Which you would already be aware of if you paid any attention at all instead of focusing on your next lay.”

  “I haven’t been laid in weeks,” I bristle. Okay, it’s been about ten days, but it was weeks before that. Gorgeous has ruined me for other pussy.

  “And you won’t be, because I swear I will rip your balls off if you make a pass at anyone while you’re here.”

  “Who died and made you my keeper?” My hand twitches. I don’t like fighting. I think it’s a waste of time, but Jason makes me want to punch something. Every. Single. Time.

  I swear, he grows six inches taller as we stare each other down. “Dad. And I have strict instructions to send you packing at the first sign of trouble.”

  I grind my molars. Right now, I hate all of them. But Jason has severely underestimated my desire to keep my trust fund if he thinks I’m going to fold that quickly. I can bend the knee for ninety days if it means I’m free of all of them after that. And if I can convince Macey to give in to her baser desires during that time, even better. One more taste of her is all the motivation I need to go through three months of hell. “You can tell Dad I’m a motherfucking angel, then.”